


Summon the Muse

by Marks



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Muses, Shadows (Sort of) Made Them Do It, Yusuke Is A Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: The shadow ambushes Yusuke when he’s lagging behind the group. As she slams him up against the subway tile of Mementos, he has two thoughts: one,the collective unconscious has such a strong design aestheticand two,oh fuck, I’m going to die.





	Summon the Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilMuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/gifts).



> I hope you like this, EvilMuffins. Have a great Chocolate Box!

The shadow ambushes Yusuke when he’s lagging behind the group. As she slams him up against the subway tile of Mementos, he has two thoughts: one, _the collective unconscious has such a strong design aesthetic_ and two, _oh fuck, I’m going to die_. He tries to summon his persona, but he’s too dizzy after the impact.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” the shadow says. She squeezes his jaw with one hand, the other still keeping him firmly trapped by her strength alone. “Talented, too. I like talented men – you and I could have a lot of fun together.” The grip on his jaw tightens, forcing his mouth open. She clucks her tongue then, perhaps seeing something she doesn’t like. Yusuke wonders if it’s the terror in his eyes. 

“Fox, where are you?” someone calls in the distance. It’s Akira, he realizes, and his heartbeat speeds up, even though adrenaline’s already surging through him.

“Someone’s already put their mark on you. I don’t share well,” the shadow hisses.

The whole group doubles back in his direction, just as the shadow lets him go and flies off. Yusuke crumples to the ground as soon as she’s not holding him up, and everyone rushes to him.

“Fox!” Ann shouts, sliding to the ground in front of him. “Where are you hurt?”

Yusuke doesn’t think he’s actually hurt, but he’s pretty shaken up and, more importantly, very confused. Who on earth could have left their mark on him? Is it a figurative one or a literal one? Maybe she was just messing with him, the way Futaba often does. Deep down, however, he knows that’s not right.

“What did a Leanan Sidhe want with you?” Morgana asks. He meow-laughs. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. They do like artistic types.”

“Is artistic type code for weirdo?” Ryuji asks. 

Morgana glares at him. “No, as in actual artists. They’re muses, though they do often wind up sucking out a man’s life force and driving him insane.” Yusuke tries sitting up, startled, but it hurts his ribs. Okay, maybe she hurt him a little. He winces and Ann’s fussing doubles.

“So both,” Ryuji concludes.

Makato clears her throat. “This has all been very educational, Mona, but Fox is hurt. Can we please get out of here?”

Morgana salutes. “Aye aye,” he says, and salutes with one paw just before he transforms into the van. 

Ann helps Yusuke back to his feet, but struggles under his weight. Akira’s suddenly there to take the brunt, looping Yusuke’s arm over his shoulder and wrapping his own around Yusuke’s waist.

“You okay there?” Akira asks, peering at him from underneath his Joker mask. He has very long eyelashes, more prominent because of the mask. On a canvas, they’d contrast brilliantly with his skin. Despite his pain, Yusuke’s fingers itch to hold a paintbrush, to mix his paint until they reach the perfect shade of Akira. “Fox?” says Akira, concerned. 

It’s then that Yusuke realizes he’s staring and hasn’t answered. He shakes his head, hard. “I’m fine,” he says, though he stumbles as they make their way toward the van. Akira’s grip on him tightens, and Yusuke gratefully leans into him. “Or rather, I will be.”

*

When the Phantom Thieves finally get Yusuke back to the dorms, all he wants to do is sleep. He feels as though it takes him an unusually long time, despite his bone-deep exhaustion, replaying the way the shadow surprised him and everything she said. It’s still bothering him, that someone could have left a mark on him.

He wonders if she meant Madarame. The idea of that man holding some sway over him disgusts him, even through he fears that it might be true. But what other possibilities are there? Yusuke is still considering this as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Yusuke dreams of being lured to the shadow realm, of his back hitting the wall, of emotions welling up that have nothing to do with fear or inspiration. Instead of Leanan Sidhe, he dreams of Joker’s smirk and Akira’s long eyelashes. When Akira grasps his jaw, Yusuke’s mouth opens willingly. He opens up to Akira, his heartbeat violent when Akira presses his lips to Yusuke’s. The actions are new, but the feelings familiar, as Yusuke shuts his eyes and his hands come up to pull Akira’s body close to his, groaning his approval into Akira’s mouth. Akira breaks away then, laughing Joker’s laugh, a breathless, intoxicating tease. Yusuke leans forward, ready for another taste –

And wakes up. His breathing is ragged and he’s drenched in sweat. He’s uncomfortably turned on and, though he can’t see his face at that moment, Yusuke is sure his expression is a madman’s. He can feel his pulse pounding, so strong and sure and full of need.

“Ah,” Yusuke says, suddenly understanding. 

It’s funny how he’s never noticed before. Aren’t artists meant to be observant? Perhaps this means he’s a failure.

But perhaps it means he needs to open his eyes.

*

The next day at Leblanc, Yusuke chooses to observe. He sits in the corner of a booth, knees drawn up to his chin like Futaba, though with Yusuke’s height, it’s rather awkward and his limbs don’t want to cooperate. Balance is something every artist must achieve, but perhaps not when it comes to unnatural positions on padded vinyl. The group is chatting animatedly, something about the quality of the cafeteria food at Shujin, but Yusuke doesn’t go there and he isn’t participating.

Haru looks at him, concern all over her sweet face. “Are you still hurt?” she asks.

Yusuke tells her, “I’m taking it easy today,” which isn’t much of an answer. He isn’t hurt, but it gets the team off his back and he’s glad for the implied excuse.

Akira, Yusuke notices, doesn’t speak much, but when he does, the entire group stops to listen. He has _presence_ and _charisma_ and occasionally licks his lips to wet them as he speaks. Yusuke thinks back to his dream and considers what Akira’s mouth might taste like for real. He peers over his knees as he watches Akira, taking in his tousled dark hair, the way his glasses frame his eyes like his mask does. Akira, though naturally quiet, has a habit of speaking with his hands, and Yusuke can’t help looking at those, too. His fingers are long, elegant, and Yusuke finds himself holding his own hand up in front of his face so he can compare. His hand is definitely bigger, which makes sense, since he’s bigger than Akira. Yusuke wonders how his hand would look pressed to Akira’s jaw or splayed out low on his stomach.

When he drops his hand back to his knee to watch Akira once more, he finds he’s been noticed. Akira is no longer speaking, but instead staring back. Yusuke and Akira look at each other for several long moments, drawn out pulls of time that seem slow inside Yusuke’s head. It’s as if time decided to pass through molasses just so Yusuke could really live within this moment, and he appreciates its courtesy. 

Then Ryuji slaps Akira’s back, startling him forward and breaking their gaze. Yusuke shakes his head and lets out a stuttered breath as time catches up with itself.

*

There are unread messages on his phone when Yusuke gets home, nothing too surprising. As Ryuji would say, the group chat is pretty lit. These are just for him, though, from Akira. _This_ is surprising; Yusuke can count on one hand the number of times Akira has initiated conversation with him and, from what he’s gathered from the others, he’s not alone in this. Akira is the type to wait for people to come to him, and being what he is, he never waits long. Yusuke knows from experience that he’s never been able to go long without needing to see Akira again.

 _You all right?_ the text reads. _You seemed a little spacey when you were over._

Yusuke considers this. He knows, logically, that he’s always a little spacey. He knows this because he hears it almost every day. But he also knows that wasn’t the case earlier. The dream, the shadow – they’re supposed to be things that create chaos and confusion, but Yusuke’s always thrived in chaos, so maybe that explains why they’ve thrown things into startling – and scary – clarity. In other words, Yusuke should have known this forever ago. He should have known right away who Leanan Sidhe meant, considering where Yusuke’s focus has been since the moment he joined the Phantom Thieves. Everyone wants Akira, and why shouldn’t he be included in everyone?

 _There were too many people,_ Yusuke replies. 

Akira’s response is immediate. _That’s okay. Sometimes I want to be alone, too._

 _No, that’s not it,_ Yusuke says. He pauses, then adds, _I believe I would have been all right if it were just you._

The three dots indicating that Akira is crafting a reply keep appearing and disappearing, three little points of anticipation that leave Yusuke in agony. Finally, blessedly, Akira responds: _Well, I’m alone now. Why don’t you come back?_

Yusuke barely reaches the end of the question before he grabs his jacket and heads back toward the train station.

*

Akira yanks open the front door of the darkened Leblanc the second Yusuke steps on the landing. 

Yusuke is out of breath, only partly because of his dash from the train, and it’s raining now because of course it is. There’s no way Yusuke can anticipate anything without the skies opening up. He’s drenched and he knows he’s shivering, but he doesn’t feel cold – just the opposite, in fact. One time, back when he and Madarame were on better terms, Yusuke had left a rag too close to a lantern and of course the thing caught fire. He’d been able to stomp it out before it damaged any of his work, but for a split-second, Yusuke admired the orange-yellow light that flared to life in front of him. Before, Yusuke had felt like the rag’s charred remains, but now, he’s bright like that flame.

Akira steps aside to let Yusuke inside the dry, warm restaurant and hunts around for a towel.

“What do you know about muses?” Yusuke asks, leaning against the counter.

“Not much,” Akira replies. He finds one of Sojiro’s hand towels and gives it to Yusuke. Their fingers brush and it’s electric. “They help artists, though, right?”

Yusuke nods, rubbing his hair to dry it as best he can. “Muses are corporeal inspiration. An idea come to life.” He pauses. “They can become an all-encompassing obsession.”

“Sounds kind of scary.”

“I believe –” Yusuke takes a deep breath. “I believe you might be my muse.”

Akira cocks his head to one side. “Are you sure you want that?” There’s no disbelief from Akira, no denial. There’s nothing but Akira smirking at him like Yusuke’s a shadow who’s about to form a bond with him. Yusuke swallows.

“I want that,” he says in a rough voice, and at that, Akira turns and heads up the stairs. 

Yusuke, of course, follows.

Akira’s attic room is even more bare than usual without Morgana curled up on the bed like Yusuke expects. “The cat?” he asks, slipping off his shoes by the entryway.

“With Futaba, strategizing,” says Akira. He looks over his shoulder and smiles. Yusuke’s heart stutters. “I got a babysitter for the night.”

Yusuke stops in the middle of Akira’s room. “You knew.”

“I suspected.” Akira turns all the way around and walks toward Yusuke, not stopping until they’re standing toe-to-toe. He reaches up and grabs the zipper on Yusuke’s wet jacket, tugging it down until he can push it off Yusuke’s shoulders. It falls to the ground and pools around their feet. “Not the muse thing – but I have eyes and I saw the way you were looking at me.” Akira goes up on his tiptoes and tilts his head, tangling his fingers in the material of Yusuke’s shirt.

“You were looking back,” Yusuke says. His hands act on their own, skimming up Akira’s waist and over his shoulder, the curve of his neck, until his fingers are threaded through Akira’s messy hair. “That’s why you noticed.”

Akira nods and grins. “Got me there,” he says, and kisses Yusuke hard. The frames of his glasses dig into Yusuke’s cheeks and his tongue is a warm, welcome intrusion. Yusuke hasn’t had much occasion to practice this, but sucks on it, as if by instinct. Judging by the sound Akira makes, his instincts were correct. When his mouth goes slack, Akira takes the opportunity to slide his tongue over Yusuke’s lower lip. Yusuke breathes out through his nose.

His body feels warm, so warm, even though his socks are soaked straight through from the rain outside. He thinks about stripping them off, of taking everything off and getting Akira to do the same. He wonders how Akira’s skin would feel against his, pliant and burning beneath him. Or over him, Yusuke isn’t picky – at least, he’s pretty sure he’s not.

As if reading his mind, Akira steps back and takes his hand, pulling him over to the camp bed in the corner of his room.

“An efficient muse,” Yusuke breathes, tilting his head up toward the ceiling as Akira nudges his chin with his nose and licks a stripe over his throat. “You’re anticipating my needs beautifully.”

Akira pushes him onto the bed, Yusuke flat on his back with Akira leaning dangerously over him. “You’re an easy read,” Akira says. He puts one knee up on his bed, the other foot still flat on the floor and begins undoing the buttons on his own shirt. Yusuke’s palms itch, the way they always do when he longs to create art, often because he’s so affected by a beautiful piece of work that he doesn’t know how else to react.

Akira, Yusuke concludes, is a beautiful piece of work.

“Your clothes are damp,” says Akira, voice mild. “You’re getting my blankets wet.” 

Yusuke’s feels his cheeks heat up and he begins to apologize, but then he catches a glimpse of that dangerous Joker grin and realizes the words for the invitation they are. 

“Oh,” Yusuke says, swallowing hard. His own hands are at his throat, working his own buttons, pulling fastenings as he loses his shirt, his pants, the stupid wet socks. “Better?” he asks, once he’s in only his underwear.

Akira doesn’t answer. Instead, he hooks his fingertips underneath Yusuke’s waistband and runs his hand back and forth. Yusuke, already halfway hard just from the anticipation, inhales and gets all the way there as Akira’s skin brushes against his. Akira leans over him again, pressing his mouth against Yusuke’s. It’s almost embarrassing how eagerly Yusuke strains up to meet him, how easily he lifts his hips as Akira tugs his underwear down over his hips. 

Yusuke feels hot all over as the last of his clothes hit Akira’s floor; if he had good lighting and a mirror right now, he knows he’d see a blush starting on his cheeks and traveling down his throat and chest and lower still. The human body is truly wondrous, Yusuke knows, but he can’t help but be embarrassed; he’s never been naked in front of another person in this context before. But things improve when Akira stretches out next to him. He’s smiling and trailing his hand down Yusuke’s stomach, circling his fingers once, twice around Yusuke’s navel.

“I want to paint you,” Yusuke blurts, just as Akira’s hand wraps around his dick. His hips stutter forward, fucking into Akira’s fist.

Akira laughs and strokes him faster, murmuring, “I’m so glad that shadow bought you a clue.”

Yusuke’s lost then, breathless and blurry because of Akira’s hand and Akira’s wet mouth and Akira’s encouraging words in his ear. When he comes, his vision goes white as a canvas and he’s suddenly inspired to paint a polar bear in a snowstorm eating vanilla ice cream. It’s the only thing that can properly capture the intensity he’s feeling right then.

Though perhaps Akira’s eyes behind his Joker mask will do instead.

*

Another Leanan Sidhe corners Yusuke the next time they’re in Mementos. They really do love artists, he supposes, but this time Yusuke’s not worried. Because they’re not the only ones who love artists. Yusuke looks over the shadow’s shoulder, just as the rest of the Phantom Thieves appear. Akira and Yusuke smile at each other over her shoulder.

“Nice of you to join us, Joker,” Yusuke says, and the shadow whips around.

“I don’t like people touching my stuff,” Akira says and pulls his glove tight before the fight begins.

It ends quickly, and Akira and Yusuke resurface in the real world, hand-in-hand.


End file.
